


If I Didn't Care

by godtiermeme



Category: BioShock, Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - BioShock, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Gen, Illustrations, M/M, Physical Disability, Rapture (Bioshock)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: In the middle of a growing metropolis beneath the sea, two affluent members of society search for love.Winery owner and hopeless romantic, Karkat Vantas, finds little meaning in his wealth and social standing. He wants someone to share his time with, and he'll find it in an enigmatic busker.Fashion designer and socialite Kanaya Maryam is the ocean's top bachelorette, but she only has eyes for one person. She's fallen for the blonde woman in Arcadia, who plays violin every day, and she's more than ready to open her heart to her.YOU DO NOT HAVE TO HAVE PRIOR KNOWLEDGE OF BIOSHOCK TO READ THIS FIC.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly an in-depth intro to the two main viewpoint characters. Expect much more in later chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The historical accuracy of this will be a bit lax, but I'll try my best to keep to the Rapture storyline and to keep in line with Bioshock lore. I hope everyone enjoys the story! Chapters marked with [!] in the title have an embedded illustration. If you like my art, consider **[checking out some more](http://tt40art.deviantart.com/)** or **[or some other ones](https://www.etsy.com/shop/TT40art)**.

To Karkat Vantas, Rapture was the perfect place. It was where, in late 1950, he emigrated to, from India, to establish what would become the successful Vantas Vineyards company.

In Rapture, Karkat quickly established himself as a prime member of elite society. His charitable efforts have earned him a decent following amongst lower class residents, many of whom frequently indulge in his company's spirits, and his apartment in the luxurious Olympus Heights neighborhood was decorated with only the finest imported items.

Yet, despite his success, he lacked what he truly wanted. He lacked love and, above all, he lacked someone to share his wealth with.

* * *

Beloved amongst the residents of the upscale architectural amalgam of Siren's Alley, Kanaya Maryam made herself a fast fixture of Rapture society. Using the last of her topside wealth, she purchased her way into the settlement, leaving behind her downtrodden life in suburban America. There, she began a new life as a seamstress.

Initially little more than one of twenty workers doing alterations, her fine touches and thoughtful embroidery work quickly earned her a larger role in the workplace. Not long after this initial promotion, her talents were noticed by the renowned shoe designer, Anya Andersdotter. A collaboration between the two women yielded a huge jump in exposure for the young designer, and she soon found herself founding her own company.

Maryam Clothing became a staple of Rapture society, and the designs were sported by countless numbers of the wealthiest of the city. The best and brightest, as far up as Andrew Ryan, sported Maryam designs, and this all laid the groundwork for Rapture's most eligible bachelorette.

But, Kanaya knows what she wants. She doesn't want any of the countless male suitors, nor would she ever so much as encourage their woeful wooing attempts. No, she knows what she wants, and what she wants is the beautiful blonde, who plays violin every day in Arcadia.


	2. Brother, Can You Spare a Dime? [!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to publish the prologue without this chapter. Oops.

**Karkat Vantas** is a man of less than average height, a bit wider than average girth, and far above average attitude. He has a reputation for his looks, though, and his often unkempt black hair goes over well with many. He has a round, yet prominent jaw, a long, striking nose, and his skin is light brown.

Right now, he stands in the middle of Pauper's Drop. He anxiously checks his watch, tries to budget his time, and concludes the affair with an exasperated sigh.

"Sir," he says, catching the attention of a passing Atlantic Express employee, "Sir. Do you have any clue when the train will be back up and running?"

The employee shrugs. "Hell if I know, kid. Stop bugging us and let us repair it, and we might have it back up and running soon." With this said, the employee storms off.

Karkat rolls his eyes. "Yeah, fuck you, too, buddy," he mutters under his breath. He tugs at the sleeves of his suit jacket.

Just his luck, he supposes. Whenever he has to get something done, something gets in his way.

Again, he sighs. He buries his hands in his pockets, assures himself that the train won't be running again for some time, and wanders off.

After perhaps five minutes, as he nears the Fishbowl Diner, his attentions are drawn by the sound of a guitar. The tune is familiar, yet he can't exactly place it. It's a melody of bygone glory, and its tone is grim. Nonetheless, the notes are played expertly.

"Name's Dave Strider, ma'am," a voice, its vowels elongated by a pointed southern drawl, speaks up. "Thanks for the cash."

Karkat turns, and he finds himself facing an unfamiliar man. His hair is golden blond, his skin is pale, and his hands are covered in callouses. Thin lips are drawn in a straight line across his face, portraying no emotion, and dark aviator shades cover his eyes. He sits in a rusty wheelchair, and his legs are still.

As Karkat watches, he slowly recalls the melody.

Once I built a railroad. I made it run,  
Made it race against time.  
Once I built a railroad, now it's done.  
Brother, can you spare a dime?

"You don't look like you're from around here," the man, presumably Dave, says. By now, it occurs to Karkat that the song is over. Dave has set aside the guitar, and is now studying the contents of a tattered tin cup.

"I'm not," Karkat responds honestly. He scuffs a polished leather shoe against cracking concrete.

"You sure ain't." Setting down the cup, Dave picks up his guitar. He plucks a few notes before pausing to readjust his position in his chair. "Any requests?"

"No."

"You're a fun one, ain't you?" Dave begins playing another song, though Karkat doesn't recognize it. "I've seen a few of you fancy ass folks running around today. Must be a bad day for trains."

"Yeah." Admittedly, Karkat isn't in the mood for chatting. He's missing an important meeting with the producers of Arcadia Merlot, with whom he was about to make a deal.

Regardless and without knowledge of this fact, Dave continues. "You've got one hell of an accent. Where're you from?"

"India," Karkat huffs, averting his gaze.

Dave plays a flourishing arpeggio before continuing, his face still enigmatic, "Cool. I'm from Texas. I came here as a construction worker."

"Hmph."

"Well, since you're so interested in my shitty sob story, I might as well continue. I fell from the Adonis building. Fucked over my back pretty damn well." Dave turns his head, offering a brief glimpse of odd, blood red eyes.

"You could just splice," Karkat shrugs. While the story tugs at his heartstrings, it doesn't do enough to move his stance on wanting conversation. "Splicing will make it good as fucking new."

"I'm not doing that shit," Dave tuts. He pauses, lets forth a grunt of discomfort, and presses against the thigh of his trembling left leg. "Rest assured your money ain't buying drugs."

At this point, figuring it will shut him up, Karkat drops a handful of change into the cup.

Yet, to his chagrin, Dave continues, "Thanks. You're kind, even if you're a little rude."

"I'm late for a meeting. What the fuck do you expect, a tea party?" Karkat folds his arms across his chest and checks his watch again. Now, he's running twenty minutes late.

"I didn't really expect anything." Once again setting aside his guitar, Dave reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a deep drag. When he exhales, the cloud tumbles from his mouth like an avalanche. "I'm just here to make enough money to not be dead. That's standard fare, right?"

Karkat doesn't answer.

Dave, as if amused by this reaction, soldiers onwards. "Never seen anyone get so damned worked up about missing a train."

"I'm behind in a fucking thousand dollar deal, you absolute fucking twit!" Karkat thunders, having reached his wit's end. "Are you normally this insufferable!?"

"Most folks tell me so," Dave shrugs. "By the way, your train seems to be leaving."

"WHAT!?" Karkat turns, and he comes to face the tracks just in time to see the train taking off without him. His eyes widen, he opens his mouth, and he lets forth an uproarious exclamation, "FUCK!"

* * *

**Kanaya Maryam** stands in the middle of the tree farm. She stares at a large, imposing oak tree and let's the music of a nearby violinist captivate her.

The tune is familiar, and she knows the lyrics, but she doesn't dare to sing along. She reserves that task for the drunken fellow in a tweed coat, who sits in the shade of a small ornamental cliff.

"Bravo!!!" The drunken man applauds enthusiastically at the song's end, and eventually falls backwards. Presumably, he's fallen into a stupor.

Not that it matters to Kanaya. She, instead, studies herself in the reflection of her hand mirror. As per usual, he dark brown skin is flawless, and her prominent brows are thin and well maintained.

Lowering the mirror, she studies her target. The woman is shorter than her, standing at about five foot four, and her skin is much paler. Her hair is blonde, and her odd, violet eyes woo Kanaya to no end.

A deep breath. Kanaya gathers her wits about her, marches forward, and drops a fair amount of money into the tin cup at the woman's feet. "Your music is enrapturing," she comments.

The response is a thin smile. "Thank you. I'm glad you enjoy it."

"And... to whom do I owe the pleasure of these melodies?" Inquires Kanaya.

"I'm Rose Lalonde," the woman answers, offering anoutstretched hand.

Kanaya accepts the offer, and she revels in the warmth of the touch. "Well, Rose, thank you for such an amazing performance. I greatly admire your skill."

Another smile crosses Rose's face, though this one is wider than before. Her eyes seem to sparkle, radiating pride and joy. "That's good to hear."

"I'm Kanaya, by the way..." After some hand-wringing, Kanaya, too, smiles. "I hope to see you again tomorrow."

"I'm here every day," Rose reassures.

Kanaya, in return, nods. She walks away, silently congratulating herself on a job well done. She's gotten the first part out of the way, now, she only needs to get to know this Rose Lalonde.


	3. God Only Knows [!]

**Karkat Vantas** stands in the middle of a bustling street in Siren's Alley. The neon lights lining the streets illuminate the walkways, mingling to form a light magenta. The smell of the nearby bakery wafts through the air, spreading the aroma of fresh cinnamon buns throughout the space. Overhead, through the glass ceiling, a whale swims by.

Yet, despite all this beauty, Karkat can only focus on one thing. It's the sound of a guitar, and it's accompanied by a familiar voice.

"You're too kind, ma'am. I'm no musician, but I'm glad I gave you some amusement." The southern drawl gives it away and, when Karkat turns the corner, the rusty wheelchair seals the deal. (A very, very bad deal in Karkat's book.)

"You..." Karkat sputters. "You... You... You... WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE!?" The outburst draws stares, but Karkat doesn't really care. Rather, he marches purposefully towards Dave. "You shouldn't be here!"

"It's a free market, pal. I can be wherever I damn well please." Dave shrugs. His face remains as nonplussed as ever. "Besides, look at me. I ain't exactly going most places. Rapture's built for folks with working legs, which are things I don't exactly have." As if to demonstrate this, he lifts his left leg and lets it drop against his chair. "Besides, you're scaring off my customers."

"UGH!" Karkat reaches into his pocket, pulls out a fistful of change, and throws it into the tin can at Dave's feet. "There! Now explain why the fuck you're here! Why am I seeing you again?"

"It's an enclosed city." Resting his elbows against the side of his guitar's body, he cups his hand around an invisible bubble. "I ain't rich enough to get out of here, so I'm stuck. I'd reckon you'd see me pretty often, too, if you frequent around Pauper's Drop."

Karkat sighs. He buries his face in his hands, then runs his fingers through his hair. "What I mean is are you following me, you dense fucker."

"Oh! Well, to be real frank with ya, you look like a real pushover." Dave offers an innocent whistle to punctuate the statement. "I figure I'd get some nice change from you if I follow you. But I just needed some more money, so I set up here. And do you know how hard it is to get these wheels over the tracks? Pretty fucking hard."

"Wonderful." Karkat folds his arms across his chest. He casts his gaze upwards, just in time to see a passing shark, before continuing, "I guess I might as well live up to my goddamned expectations, right?"

"That'd be nice," Dave hums. He presses his hands against his left leg, which has begun to twitch strangely, and quirks a single brow above the rims of his shades. "I'm saving up for a visit to Steinman. He's got a branch for injuries like mine."

"And you could fix up that ugly mug of yours," Karkat mutters.

Undeterred by the comment, or unaware of it, Dave rambles on. "I went to Suchong's free clinic, but all they did there was the ol' shock treatment. Now, that ain't a walk in Arcadia."

"I'd imagine. Now, what the fuck would it take for you to leave me the fuck alone?"

Dave pauses. He rubs his chin, which is covered by unkempt blond stubble, before snapping his fingers. "Well, I've been living in a leaky metal shipping container for a while. I sure would like a place to live."

"Too bad. I live on the third level." Here, Karkat allows himself a smug smile.

His airtight plan quickly springs a leak, though. "I can use stairs, and there's elevators in those fancier areas of Rapture."

"Ugh." Of course, Karkat can always refuse Dave a space in his apartment, but he's already offered it. If he's one thing, Karkat Vantas is a man of his word, and he's not about to let this smug blond ruin that. "Fine. Just... follow me."

* * *

 **Kanaya Maryam** toys with the bouquet of flowers in her hands. She studies the petals, making sure none have any sort of imperfections, and glances out the window of the train. Ocean life flashes by, though she catches a glimpse of a few ADAM slugs stuck to the tunnel glass.

"Hey there, sugar," a male voice croons. A man, clad in a fairly standard suit, slides into the seat beside Kanaya. A cocky grin is spread across his face. "Who're those for?"

"Not you," Kanaya responds bluntly.

The man, now crestfallen, offers an indignant huff. He rises to his feet and storms off, eventually settling in at the back of the car.

"Arriving at Arcadia," announces the overhead speaker. The female voice is familiar and smooth, as the voice of The Thinker always has been.

Without any delay, Kanaya rises to her feet. Clutching her bouquet to her chest, she strides purposefully out the door and into the station. From there, she works her way to the tree farm.

Today, she has set her sights on one goal. Today, she is going to let Rose know how she feels about her. She has already penned a letter to her, signing it with her name and address, and she now attaches it to the bouquet. She marches forwards, until she can see a small crowd gathered around the violinist.

Now, she sets her plan into action. She passes along a small amount of money, hands the bouquet to an onlooker, and instructs them to give it to Rose at the performance's conclusion. Then, without any further fanfare, she returns to the waiting train car.

* * *

**Karkat Vantas** can't help but kick himself as he unlocks the door to his apartment. What the hell was he thinking, offering some random busker space in his home? Has he finally lost it? Perhaps, he considers, Kanaya was right; he should have gotten a cat. He imagines his would be one of those black and white ones, which are  _the_ thing to have right now. If it's not black and white, perhaps it would be grey. Whatever the case, a cat would certainly be better than dealing with Dave.

"Holy shit. This place is fucking huge," Dave exclaims, studying the high plaster ceilings. "How tall is that shit? Ten feet?"

"Twelve," you mutter. "I'm on the third level. We have the highest ceilings."

"Well, shit." From here, Dave begins examining the rest of the living area. He seems to be drawn towards the television, which is an admittedly advanced model. It came with the apartment, and the landlords provide the newest model every year. "This place is a fucking marvel, ain't it?"

"Not really," Karkat groans. He gestures towards the northeastern door, waving his hand dismissively, "That's the guest room. You can stay there."

"Great. I won't be too much of a nuisance. Promise." While the words are sincere, Dave's expression remains unreadable. To be quite honest, Karkat isn't sure whether or not this man is trustworthy, but he's not in the mood to find out. Instead, he lets him continue. "I don't take up that much space, and I'll probably be out of here early every morning to go do my usual buskin'."

"Fair enough."

Dave exits the living room and enters his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Karkat, meanwhile, flops onto the nearby leather armchair. He tangles his fingers in his hair and wonders what the hell he's done. He considers the possibilities. If he were a harsher person, he would simply kick Dave out. Then again, if that were the case, he never would have let Dave follow him home in the first place. Thus, removing him isn't an option. This then leaves a second scenario, wherein he does his best to drive Dave to want to move out. Though this idea seems promising, he quickly understands the pitfalls. Dave isn't likely to want to abandon free shelter soon. Thus, Karkat comes to his third and final option: he deals with whatever comes his way.

All things considered, it seems that option three is his best bet.

In the back of his mind, Karkat considers the possibility that letting Dave into his home has granted him such immense, immeasurable amounts of karma that he'll rocket straight to the best possible afterlife scenario. He doubts this is the case, but the idea comforts him to some degree. It gives him the sense that letting a random busker from the streets into his home was a good idea, and not some sort of outlandish bet on his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[ **Link to the image post.** ](http://godtiermeme.tumblr.com/post/165132452637/this-is-also-for-posting-to-my-bioshockhomestuck) **


	4. Everybody Wants to Rule the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm referencing this version, to be specific.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAA_zE5a3JQ)

**Kanaya Maryam** waits eagerly by her phone. It's been a day since she delivered the bouquet, within which she had enclosed her contact information. It was a foolish, risky move, but she's hoping it will pay off. Beyond that, the security around her building would undoubtedly stop any suspicious passerby. Yes, there was a risk, but it was calculated. The benefit—a chance to converse with Rose—far outweighed the possibility of some annoying prank calls.

The phone rings.

Kanaya springs. She snatches it from the receiver and answers in her most cordial voice, "Hello, this is Kanaya Maryam."

"Ah! So I do have the right number!" The voice is definitely the same as before. It's soft and airy, yet it has a great deal of command. "A note was enclosed in the beautiful bouquet, which I can only assume  _you_ sent."

"I'm glad you enjoyed them," Kanaya hums. She toys with the cord of her phone and revels in the rising warmth, which spreads throughout her body. "So, you're Rose?"

"Rose Lalonde," comes the response. "I play the violin at the tree farm in Arcadia. My name was on the note, so I assume it was meant for me."

"It certainly was." Kanaya finds herself smiling. She's had many exciting moments in her life, but none quite as exciting as this. Her heart is pounding, racing, even, and her mouth has run dry. "So... Um... You're extremely talented."

"I'm flattered."

Kanaya pauses. She considers her words for a brief moment, then continues, saying, "This is quite sudden, but I also think you're very attractive. Would you be interested in being a model for the Maryam clothing line?"

"Of course!" Rose answers without hesitation. "I've always loved your clothes, though I've never been able to afford them."

"Well, then, meet me at my apartment in Siren's Alley. I promise this isn't any sort of scam. I am just sincerely interested in recruiting you as a company model." Kanaya finds herself smiling, uplifted by a mixture of happiness and surprise. She hadn't planned on things going this well so easily. "I'll be here all day today and tomorrow, if that helps."

"That sounds lovely. I'll see you there."

A click.

The conversation ends, and Kanaya lets forth a thoughtful sigh. She hadn't actually expected to get this far, but, now that she has, she has to plan what happens next. Right now, though, she satisfies herself by simply reveling in the unexpected success.

* * *

 **Karkat Vantas** returns home after a long day of negotiating. He loosens his tie, unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt, and throws his suit jacket over the brass coat hanger by the door. With a long, tired sigh, he flops into the nearest armchair. Some air escapes from the well-used leather seat, and he sinks into it. The sensation is familiar and comforting, as is the constant hum of the air conditioning unit. Through a skylight in the living room, he can see the exposed belly of a passing stingray. It's all so perfect, so serene, and it's exactly why he rents the lot.

He closes his eyes and breathes in, savoring the familiar scent of imported lotus plants and salt water. In this state of relaxed bliss, he begins to doze off.

"One of your neighbors got dragged off earlier today. You missed it. That was some fucking entertaining shit," a familiar voice intrudes on Karkat's peaceful bubble, popping it in the most unceremonious way possible. When Karkat opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at Dave Strider. As always, his expression is indecipherable, though he sounds a bit more enthusiastic than usual. "Looked like she'd gone off the deep end. Spliced up real damn well. Or, maybe, it's that she spiced up badly. The point is that she was  _fucked up_."

Karkat groans. He covers his face with his hands, takes a few deep breaths, and reluctantly goes along with Dave's tale. "So, who the fuck was it?"

Dave shrugs. "How would I know? I've only been here for a day. She had on this beaten up blue and white dress. Black or dark brown hair, but it was falling out at the front," as if it will somehow help identify the woman, Dave points to his own hair. "I heard her say something about how the family dog bit Susie."

"That's Barbara Johnson," grumbles Karkat, waving his hand dismissively. "She got hooked on ADAM after her daughter got kidnapped. Sad, I guess, but fucking predictable. Once you start those things, you might as well rot out the rest of your brain." At this point, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flask. He takes a large gulp from it, reseals it, and folds his arms across his chest. "Her husband left a while ago. I wouldn't blame him. I'd move, too, if all that shit happened to me."

"Are you drinking?"

"That's what humans typically call the act of consuming liquids, yes."

Dave shakes his head. He leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, as if he's trying to move closer without really doing so. "No, I mean alcohol."

"I'm fucking imbibing, yeah." Karkat rolls his eyes. Quirking his brow, he goes on, "What does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't, really," Dave admits, "I'm just wondering. Do you always carry alcohol on you?"

"It's cheap and readily available."

"So is water."

This response elicits a blank stare from Karkat. For several minutes, he remains silent. The air in the room becomes thick with awkward discord, which weighs upon its occupants until Karkat simply can't take it any more. "Is your goal in life to annoy the hell out of me? Are you some sort of fucking demonic force, sent to punish me for my charitable deeds?"

Dave laughs, though his face shows none of the traditional signs of joy. "Look, pal, I'm just asking. It's not my problem. You can shove that alcohol up your ass and chug it that way, for all I fucking care, I'm just pointing out a fact."

"You're annoying as hell."

"So I've been told." As if to emphasize this point, Dave begins counting out his commentary on his fingers. "I've been called insufferable, a prick, a jackass, an incompetent bastard, a drunkard, a—"

"Stop! Just..." Karkat groans. He massages his temples and slumps into his armchair, releasing as sigh of defeat. "Fuck it. I'll go lock myself in my room in my own goddamned apartment. There's nothing more fucking entertaining than confining myself to my room like a misbehaved child." With prompt determination, Karkat rises from his armchair. He begins to march off to his room, only to be interrupted by the sound of wheels crossing his apartment floor. Before he has time to react, Dave parks himself in his path. "You can move now, or I'll move you."

A shrug serves as a response. "You're uptight as hell. Haven't you ever heard of relaxing a little?"

"I run a fucking brewery. When do you think I have time to relax?" counters Karkat, his thunderous reply echoing off the walls.

"You have all the time you want to relax. Look, I've got a deal." Dave pauses. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a crumpled wad of dollar bills, and waves it in front of himself. "I'll take you to a bar tomorrow, we'll have a relaxed, stress-free day, and I'll bet you you'll feel so much better you'll practically shit yourself with relief. Out flows that sweet, sweet stress waste."

"You'll bet me what?" Karkat huffs.

"Hm." Dave pauses. His left leg twitches, then slowly extends outwards. As it had before, it remains outstretched for a few seconds, then drops. He doesn't seem to notice it. "If you don't feel like a fresh, new person, I'll get the hell out of your apartment. How's that sound?"

Karkat pauses. The deal is too good to pass up, and he's about ready to throw Dave out without provocation. At least, this way, Dave will leave on his own. This way, Karkat keeps a perfectly clean and charitable record. "You have a goddamned deal, Strider. Now, get out of my way. I'm going to bed."

"It's five in the afternoon," mutters Dave, moving to the side.

Karkat waves a dismissive hand in the air. "I'm going. To bed," he says, rather emphatically. To top it off, he steps into his room, then slams the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are always welcome!


	5. You're the Top [!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heya!** This is probably a great time to mention the setting. This fic begins in the fall of 1958, which some Bioshock players might notice as a _big year_. You can't tell, primarily because the ocean doesn't have seasons, but I'm going for something around October to November, and I'll leave it up to you as to when exactly it is. Just know that it's all happening in late 1958. If you don't know what that means, maybe don't Google it; you'll ruin the "surprise".

**Karkat Vantas** sits in the middle of The Fighting McDonagh's tavern. As he would expect from such an establishment, the bar stool is firm, yet comfortable. The atmosphere is jovial, but not overly so, and the air smells of a fine, delicate mix of cigarette smoke and roses. The latter of these two scents emanates from the many filled vases, which adorn practically every table. If Karkat was a betting man, and he is, he'd say that these decorations are the beginnings of the bar's famous holiday decor.

Dave, meanwhile, sits on the stool to the left. He leans heavily on the counter, as if he'd fall over otherwise, and he seems wholly content with simply sipping a glass of apple juice.

"Didn't you say we would relax?" Karkat asks, eyeing Dave's beverage. For now, he's waiting for his cup of Moonbeam Absinthe.

"Alcohol and me don't mix well," Dave shrugs. "We get along like a snail and some salt."

"Fascinating," Karkat responds, sarcastically, just as his drink arrives. He swills the entire glass in one gulp, then orders another. "So, what? You got trashed as hell one night and made an even bigger ass of yourself than usual?"

"Alcoholism runs in the family." Dave looks away as he continues. Though his gaze is hidden behind his shades, it seems to be directed at a loose nail in the floorboards. "My accident wasn't so much an accident, either, to be real with you. I was drunker than the entire population of this bar on New Year's 1957. Couldn't walk two feet without smacking into something or dropping over myself." He turns to face forwards, towards the shelves of liquor behind the bar. "It turns out alcohol and heavy machinery ain't a good mix. And it also turns out that breaking your back hurts a lot more than you think it would."

"Nope. Sounds to me like it would hurt like hell," Karkat grunts. Despite his response, he finds himself ironically sobered by the commentary. For as annoying as Dave is, it seems as if he has  _some_ common sense. "So, what, you just play guitar now?"

"Pretty much." Dave shrugs. "I like to think I'm pretty good at it."

Another glass of Moonbeam arrives before an eager Karkat, though he leaves it to sit. For now, he's feeling pleasant enough. At the very least, he's less annoyed by Dave's mostly useless utterances. "You're better than the average street performer. You're not exactly any definition of personable, though."

"That's a fair conclusion, pal." Dave shrugs. "There's a whole sad backstory to that, but I'm not up for reliving literal nightmares." At this point, Dave pauses. He carefully slides off the bar stool, drops into his wheelchair, and readjusts himself. It takes a bit of time, though he seems comfortable with the entire affair. The act draws a good amount of stares, though patrons are quickly reminded of the reason they came: most resume drinking within a few seconds.

"I'm not up for listening to that shit, either," Karkat responds with little tact. Whereas soberness and ambition can make him a great leader with mildly decent people skills, alcohol tends to tip him into the pool of poor social skills.

Dave takes the commentary well, though. "That's also fair. Solid stance. I could give that stance a fucking firm punch in the gut and it wouldn't fall over."

"Do you already have these obtuse comparisons written out in your head, or do you pull them from your ass?" Karkat frowns. His brows furrow, and he finds himself studying Dave's face. A long, but faint scar runs diagonally across his face. His stubble-covered jaw is well defined, and his veins are somewhat visible beneath his oddly pale skin. His shoulders are broad and sturdy, though he has a slight beer belly. All in all, Karkat has to admit that he's somewhat attractive. Of course, Karkat reassures himself that this is just the liquor talking.

"I make them up as I go." Dave leans against the armrest of his chair.

At this point, Karkat decides to begin working on his next glass. He takes a sip, savors the strong flavor, and eyes Dave over once more. "Do you ever smile? Or show anything besides a perpetual look of absolute mind-melting apathy?"

"Rarely." The commentary seems to stir something within Dave. He pauses after responding, readjusts himself, and shrugs. Perhaps, Karkat considers, the epiphany was short-lived. "Like I said, it's a long story. I'm not a warm and fuzzy guy."

"Damn. I never fucking noticed," is Karkat's sarcastic retort. He takes another sip of his drink. "You're a smartass."

"I've been told."

"And you say that a lot."

"I do." Dave finishes his glass of juice before letting forth a quiet grunt. He presses against his knees, straightening his back in the process, before another stifled huff of discomfort escapes him.

"You okay over there, Strider?"

Dave nods, though it's not very convincing. And, perhaps he senses this, as he quickly fesses up, "My back hurts like hell. It happens sometimes. Nothing to worry or care about."

"That's one hell of an attitude," Karkat says, punctuating the comment with a drunken belch. He reaches for his glass and chugs the rest, downing it in a matter of seconds. "Not my problem, though." Now, without any consideration, he orders another glass. He sways slightly on his bar stool. He registers that the bartender comments on something, but doesn't pay enough attention to understand what's being said. The world begins to spin...

* * *

**Kanaya Maryam** first hears the ruckus when she steps onto her balcony for a break from her design work. It's loud, disorganized chanting, and it stems from a small crowd of workers below. All of them wield posters and picket signs, though they each seem to be yelling something different. The noises clash, and it's impossible to tell what, exactly, is being said. However, Kanaya can see the signs. They declare the helpfulness of someone named Atlas, and demand working reforms. It's a development that doesn't quite shock Kanaya, though it seems odd that they've gathered in Siren's Alley.

In fact, within seconds, a group of Siren's Alley residents disperses the crowd. Among them, Kanaya recognizes Mr. Fletcher, who lives a few doors down. The pair exchange a cordial wave, though Kanaya remains wary of the gathering. Nonetheless, she returns inside. She has bigger fish to fry. She sits down at her drafting desk and picks up her pencil. Before her is a dress design, which features a predominantly black color scheme. However, she has added pink accents. Though she initially had these pink additions at the ends of the short sleeves, she now reconsiders the design. After a bit of erasing, she adds a pink bow instead. It's tied about the waist, and it large enough to be noticed, yet small enough to be tasteful and simple.

Standing up, she examines the design. After an approving nod, she begins to add some more details. This will be Rose's first item of clothing for her modeling, and Kanaya is aiming for nothing less than perfect. This dress will be absolutely spotless, even if she has to sink all of Rapture to make it that way.

* * *

**Karkat Vantas** wakes slowly. Every sound seems too loud, even the usual drone of the ocean currents sweeping past the city. The lights are too bright, though a few seconds of study make it apparent that there are no lights on, save for a candle burning on his bedside table. His head throbs and, when he rolls over, he finds himself face to face with Dave Strider.

As always, Dave looks disinterested in everything around him. However, he seems to be covered in some sort of dry, crusty substance. When Karkat opens his mouth to ask about it, Dave interjects, "You passed out at McDonagh's. I dragged you home, and you puked on me a few times. When I said to relax a little, I meant to  _relax a little_ , not to chug an army's ration of absinthe and wreck yourself." Despite his words, there's a sense of concern. In fact, Karkat realizes that Dave isn't wearing his shades, and his eyes reveal far more than his facial expression does. Right now, even in his hungover state, Karkat can see a clear sense of mixed relief and worry. "Other than that, though, you were a pretty good rider. You at least stayed in my lap, and didn't go flopping onto the ground."

"You've done this before?" Karkat finds himself wincing at his own voice. Too loud. Why, he mentally bemoans, why is everything so loud? "What, is this a common occurrence?"

"My older brother and caretaker used to pass out a lot on me. I'd have to drag his ass back home. A little harder without the chair, since it makes for a convenient way to keep you from slamming onto the ground, but that's how it goes." Dave shrugs. He rubs the back of his neck, revealing a bloodied bandage wrapped around his left palm.

Karkat pauses. He frowns and reaches out, towards the wounded hand.

Dave instinctively recoils. He wheels back, eyes Karkat warily, and explains himself, "There was a dumbass splicer on the way back. Ryan's goons were after him, but he managed to knock me over. It's just a scrape. Doesn't hurt any more than the rest of me usually does."

"Oh." Karkat feels a pang of guilt, and the pang ends up sticking around afterwards. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be an absolute fuckhead."

"You're fine." Dave, to Karkat's surprise, offers a brief flash of a reassuring smile.

And, for some reason, Karkat feels his heart flutter. He pauses, trying to shake the feeling, only to find that it, like the guilt, seems to be staying for a while. "Do you have a change of clothes?"

"Nope." Dave shrugs. He seems genuinely disinterested in having to remain dressed in puke-crusted garments.

Guilt, however, won't let Karkat be as unaffected. "Go into my wardrobe. There's some stuff in there. I have belts, too, so you can take a pair of pants. Jesus fucking Christ, I fucked myself over. What time is it?"

"It's 7:00 PM. You've been out for a solid five hours." There's a short pause. Then, as if as an afterthought, Dave adds, "Thanks for the clothes, by the way. I'll... go change."

Karkat groans. He nods to Dave, then buries himself beneath his bedclothes. Somehow, he has the feeling that he won't be making the meeting he has with the producers of Arcadia Merlot tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[Here's a link to the image post!](http://godtiermeme.tumblr.com/post/165135634197/godtiermeme-please-enjoy-this-drunken-karkat-from) **


	6. Twentieth Century Blues

**Kanaya Maryam** has always thought of herself as having a bit of skill in many things. Aside from design, she also has a great deal of fighting ability, and she is quite capable if given a weapon. Many of these skills were learned while topside, before she arrived in Rapture, but she has learned a few in the city. Among these is the ability to use an everyday wrench as a frighteningly efficient melee weapon. Personally, she never believed she would need this skill, but it seems that she was wrong.

In fact, right now, she finds herself holding a bloody wrench. A formerly aggressive splicer, whose humanity and sense of right and wrong has been totally drained by the popular drugs available throughout the city, lays at her feet. Judging by the chunks of skull clinging to the wrench, and the gathering pool of blood at her feet, she believes it's safe to say that this man is very, very dead.

The crowd around her, however, is very much alive. In fact, a woman behind Kanaya, who happens to be accompanied by a chubby-cheeked little boy, thanks her for her defensive action. Kanaya nods, though she only really catches something about how she has preserved the future of Rapture by protecting a child. She disregards the comment, though, as she sees little heroism in the act. She has no qualms about being a killer, as it was pure self defense. Rather, she sees nothing incredible about using a nearby maintenance tool to overpower her attacker.

In fact, she continues walking. She drops the wrench, and enters the nearby tree farm. There, she meets with Rose. "You would not believe what just happened," she comments, as if this is an everyday occurrence.

Rose, however, snickers. "I saw the whole thing from here, actually. It was quite a spectacle. I'm amazed with your ability to swing a wrench." Rose tugs at the shoulder strap on her violin case. With a small smile, she follows Kanaya, and sits beside her on a nearby bench. "You've seen more of them around, haven't you? It can't just be me."

"Oh, no, there are many more splicers wandering around. They should probably regulate ADAM, but I doubt they will." Kanaya shrugs. She's observed the slow increase in violent, thoughtless (for lack of a better term) ADAM zombies for quite a while. Nonetheless, she's never worried about it. She can hold her own, and she knows she'll be able to protect those she cares about. Thus, she sees little point in wasting energy on the thought. "Anyhow, on a more important note, I've brought my most recent design for you to look at. You'll be modeling at, as my last female model ran off to join some sort of cult of personality. Something about an off-the-wall witch named Sophia Lamb. The city's getting whacky these days." At this point, Rose pulls her sketchbook from her briefcase.

"It is." Rose gingerly takes the drawings. She studies the design, and her eyes linger on the pink bow. "That's a gorgeous touch."

"Glad you like it. Would you like to model it?" Kanaya inquires, though she knows the answer.

"Of course I would!" Rose grins. She returns the sketchbook and reaches into her pocket, from which she pulls a crocheted flower. "I made this for you, by the way. It's a bit of a thank you for your profusion of kindness."

Kanaya, naturally, takes the offering in hand. She studies it, examining the intricate stitches, and smiles. "That's quite thoughtful of you, Rose." She finds herself struggling to contain her excitement. For now, she can only take this as a simple gift of gratitude, but it's certainly a huge step in the right direction. "It's beautiful."

"I'd hoped you'd like it. Nice to see you do."

* * *

 **Karkat Vantas** stares at the flyer on the floor of his living room. It had, according to Dave, been slipped under the door in the early hours of the morning. It bears a drawing of a hypodermic needle, as well as a bold advertisement: "Splice today and keep yourself safe! Try out the new Incinerate! and Telekinesis plasmids today!" Karkat, having little interest in these new developments, crumples the page up. He throws it away in the trash can below his sink, then begins to prepare breakfast. He cracks open an egg and sighs as it hits the pan, releasing a loud sizzle.

"What, you're not interested in it?" Dave asks, digging the ad out of the trash. He studies it closely, seemingly scrutinizing every inch. "They seem like a good deal, and it comes with a discount coupon."

"People shouldn't be able to shoot fire from their fucking hands. That's dangerous shit. We're playing God, and we're going to get fucked right up the ass by the most vile sort of Eldritch Horror imaginable for it." Karkat shrugs. He prods at his rapidly frying egg with a metal spatula. "You said something about going to Steinman, right?"

"Yeah." Dave nods eagerly. He readjusts himself and throws his left arm over the corresponding handle of his wheelchair. "I heard through the grapevine that he's got some pretty cool shit going down there. He's not walking on water or anything, but I've heard of people getting fixed up down there."

"They're fixed up with ADAM," Karkat responds bluntly. At this point, he judges the egg to be fit for flipping, and he does so very gently. He's never been a fan of sunny side up, and he's definitely not a supporter of a spoiled, oozing yolk. "That's what you'll get at Steinman's. It's all he ever does now. I know some people who work with him, he's a fucking raving idiot at this point. You're getting nothing there that you can't buy off the street for half the price, and inject into yourself with a rusty needle."

Dave pauses. His shoulders sag slightly, though he seems unfazed otherwise. "Well, then, that's off the list. I mean, legs ain't exactly things that we  _need_ , right? I get around fine without them. Or... I mean, I still have them, they just don't do much these days besides mysteriously twitching."

"Yeah, I've noticed that." With one final glance, Karkat declares his egg to be finished. He scoops it from the pan, and delivers it to a pedestal of whole wheat bread. Another slice of bread is placed on top, and he trots to the table to eat this culinary masterpiece.

Dave, for whatever reason, decides to follow suit. He pulls up alongside Karkat, though the table is about an inch too tall for him to comfortably reach. Nevertheless, he continues the conversation, saying, "It's hard not to."

"You're pretty fucking calm about all this." As Karkat bites into his sandwich, some of the yolk spills out. He finds himself smiling, and recalling some of his earliest days in Rapture. The smile fades, though, once he remembers where he is, and who's with him.

"It happened ten years ago," Dave shrugs.

The commentary causes Karkat to pause. He does a few quick calculations, then glances at Dave. "You would have been, what? Thirteen?"

"Fifteen, but I was about thirteen when I came here to work," Dave corrects, wagging his finger in the air, "Didn't you know this entire city was built on underpaid labor? Plenty of other kids worked, too, but I was an absolute dipshit. I'm the perfect public safety announcement, an absolute top model for a Rapture Reminder to not drink and handle heavy machinery. Falling from great heights is also a bit of a no-no, but most people know that one."

Karkat, unsure of what to say to this, nods. He continues eating his sandwich, though he does feel the need to bring up another topic. "Thanks for last night," he mutters.

"No problem," Dave reassures him. "Thanks for the change of clothes."

The comment pulls Karkat's gaze away from his plate, and towards Dave. He's clad in a shirt two sizes too large for him, and the pants he's wearing hang off of him like molting snakeskin. Despite this, the sleeves are too short, and the pants end halfway down his shin. A large surgical scar runs the length of the right thigh, diagonally bisecting a tattoo of a vinyl record. Considering the shortness of the clothing, one thing is certain: if Dave were to stand, he'd tower above Karkat. All of this hits him like a brick, and it takes him a few moments to finally draw his eyes away. When he does, he manages to stammer a meager reply, "You're welcome. It was... It wasn't anything, really. Just some old suits. I barely wear half my shit, anyhow."

"You've got a whole metric fuckton of suits, pal, so I can't cite you for that. Seems weird to me, but I've never owned anything besides two pairs of jeans, some shoes, and a shirt or two. Well, there's underwear, but that's about it." Here, Dave's mind seems to wander off. He leans his chin on his fist and, for the next few minutes, he remains silent.

Karkat finishes his sandwich, washes the dishes, and returns to retrieve the daily newspaper from the box by his apartment door. He unfurls it, settles into his armchair, and begins to browse through its pages. Few things of interest seem to be happening, though there are the now-obligatory stories of splicers causing mayhem. In fact, one of the pages is emblazoned with an image of Karkat's former friend, Gamzee, who has apparently been shuffled off to wherever all the other splicers are going.

"So," Dave speaks up, breaking the silence. By now, at least an hour has passed since the last words were exchanged. "When did you end up in Rapture?"

"I came here when I was eighteen, which was eight years ago. So... That would make it 1951, right?" Karkat frowns. He runs the numbers through his head, and gets the same result.

Dave reaffirms the statement with a nod. "Lucky. You got in right when they started to really restrict access."

"I guess. I don't know. I didn't really care to look into the inner workings of this place when I arrived, I was just sick of the turmoil in India."

"Makes sense to me. Weird, though, isn't it?"

"What?" Karkat frowns. He peers over the top of his newspaper, towards Dave.

"You got out of one conflict, and now it seems you're going right into another one." Dave's voice, for the first time since Karkat has met him, is something other than a monotone. He sounds thoughtful, even a bit wary.

"And what the fuck is that cryptic shit supposed to mean?" Karkat asks, a bit spooked by this development.

Dave, in return, nods to the page facing him.

When Karkat turns his paper around, he finds himself faced with a bold headline: "Ryan Security Kills Fontain in Dramatic Shootout at Fisheries!" Beneath this, there's a photo of the scene. The entry to the fishery is barricaded, though these barriers are riddled with bullet holes. Crime tape cordons off the area, though a good amount of gawkers have gathered, regardless. This is all accompanied, of course, by text. Karkat, however, is far too unnerved to read it. Instead, he crumples the paper up and throws it away, allowing it to join the plasmid advertisement. "It's just an isolated thing. I'm willing to bed this whole penthouse apartment that Fontaine's death will end all of this. No one needs to splice now that Fontaine is gone, so that should iron itself the fuck out of our hair."

"That logic is as airtight as a leaking boat, but I guess it's your call." Dave shrugs. He turns his attentions towards the fridge, which he moves towards. "You might want to start looking into renting out a bathysphere or two." With this said, he begins rummaging. He pulls out  some Hop Up Cola and, after popping the top off, using a sharp edge on the metal rim of his chair's push rims, he chugs. When he's done, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve and flips the bottle cap in Karkat's direction, adding, "I'm not political expert, though, so it's your call."

"And my call is to stay where I have a nice, wonderfully decorated apartment," Karkat responds, firmly. Catching the cap, he watches as his roommate disappears behind the door to the guest bedroom. Then, in the safety of solitude, he begins to browse the Rapture directories for contacts. While he reassures himself that everything is fine, he'll be damned if he doesn't have a backup plan.


	7. Liza (All the Clouds'll Roll Away) [!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done some art for this chapter, so check it out! [**Here's**](https://tinythreadthings.tumblr.com/post/165124491969/enjoy-a-little-rose-lalonde-sketch-this-took) a quick little sketch of Rose's outfit.

**Kanaya Maryam** is in the middle of her highly anticipated photo session with Rose when the phone rings. It's a loud, unsettling noise, and it breaks the otherwise perfect atmosphere with the force of a speeding train. She lets forth a disgruntled sigh, gives the cameraman some instructions, and goes to answer the phone.

"What?" she greets the caller with as little grace as possible. She fully expects to hear an unfamiliar person on the other end, likely trying to sell her some sort of new Plasmid or ADAM concoction.

Instead, she's greeted by a familiar voice. "Hello to you, too, Kanaya."

"Karkat, I'm in the middle of something extremely important," Kanaya begins.

Karkat snickers. " _So_ important. I saw the lovey-dovey note you left on the Arcadia community board, Maryam. You're with Rose, aren't you? I'm fucking thrilled right now. My heart leaps for joy, ripping through my chest and breaking my ribs in the process. That's not the problem, though, the problem is Rapture. You know that drifter I let into my apartment a few days ago?"

"David?" Kanaya hums thoughtfully. She nods. "Yes, I recall."

"He showed me something... unsettling... in the news. Did you see it?"

"Fontaine's death, yes," Kanaya, again, hums. She isn't exactly interested in politics, but she knows enough about it to know this isn't good. Nonetheless, her romance with Rose is currently her top priority. Civil unrest or not, that's what she's after. Nonetheless, she humors her friend, "I assume this is freaking you out a bit."

"A bit? I've chewed my goddamned fingernails off, Kanaya. I left India to get away from political shit, and now I'm stuck with dealing with political shit here! This is absolute fucking horse shit. It's like Satan is bent on arriving at my front door every day, squatting, and leaving a steaming, feculent pile of feces for me to find every morning. " Karkat groans. Kanaya can picture him, his brows furrowed as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'll make it quick, so you can go back to oggling at the violinist. Do you have a spare bathysphere? I'd like to be able to get out of here if shit hits the proverbial fan."

"Of course, and I owe you for letting me stay with you when I first arrived." Kanaya wanders over to her desk. She pulls out a pen, jots down on her notepad to give Karkat a key for the bathysphere, and responds, "Thanks for your considerate gesture, by the way. Perhaps we should meet for a double date? You and Dave, Rose and I?" as she says this, she stifles a snicker.

Karkat, meanwhile, reacts exactly as she'd hoped he would. "I AM NOT DATING THAT INSUFFERABLE PRICK!" Karkat thunders. He heaves a long, heavy sigh, then concludes the call, saying, "Whatever. Thanks for the bathysphere. We're even, now."

"Glad to hear. Now, I have a violinist to 'oggle at,' as you so eloquently said." Having said this, Kanaya hangs up. She takes a moment to recompose herself, then returns to the photoshoot.

* * *

 **Karkat Vantas** stands at the edge of the elevated walkway which leads to his apartment. He peers down to street level, watching the scene below with a keen eye for detail. Stray splicers have roamed the streets for as long has he's lived in Rapture, but he's yet to see anything on this scale. Ryan Security forces swarm the courtyard below, doing their best to overpower a crowd about about ten to twenty splicers. The drug-addled assailants wield little more than some weak pocket pistols and a few melee items, but they've done enough damage. The northern façade of the Central Square Bistro is heavily damaged, with large chunks of plaster knocked from its face. Food litters the streets, spilling out from within the former community center, and a handful of dead bodies are strewn about the debris.

"You should probably come inside," Dave's voice come from behind Karkat.

Karkat, however, doesn't turn around. He tightens his grip on the balcony guardrail, and stares at the chaos below.

"You're going to get shot, dumbass. Get in here." The wheels on Dave's chair squeak as he moves forward.

This draws the attention of a splicer.

A single shot rings out, coming from what Karkat had assumed to be a broken old rifle. Plaster cracks, then crumbles against the metal floor of the balcony.

Karkat groans. He finds himself pinned to the floor, held in place by a strategically placed elbow in his lower back. "Get off of me, dumbass," he huffs.

Dave obliges. He releases his grip and backs up.

And, as soon as he's back on his feet, Karkat returns inside. He slams the door shut behind him, and locks it. "This city's turning into a fucking death trap."

"It's been going that way for a while." At this point, Dave rolls up his right pant leg. He points to the jagged scar on his thigh, offering up a vaguely related tale. "ADAM nuts are all over the lower end areas. I've been chopped at, shot at, and beaten up more than once." He lets the pants leg drop. "Not that I wasn't beaten down before splicers were a thing. My shitty older brother 'toughened me up' with fights."

Nothing the deliberate air quotes, Karkat nods slowly. Honestly, he's unsure of what to say to this. So, he settles with nothing.

Dave, however, continues speaking. He rubs his left leg, which seems to be in the early stages of a spasm, as he speaks. "The perk of all this is you have a free body guard. I'm not the most intimidating person, but I can shoot a gun and use a knife." As if to demonstrate this, Dave reaches beneath the seat of his chair. From some unseen spot, he pulls out a one foot long blade, presumably an old kitchen knife. He tosses it around a bit before returning it to its hiding place. "This city's been a brewing pot of doomsday for a while. You folks up here sure wouldn't notice it, but a few days in Skid Row make the danger pretty obvious."

Something slams against the door.

Karkat jumps.

Dave seems unfazed. "Sounds like a splicer. Don't worry about it." As if this is an everyday occurrence for him, he wheels forward. He slides the door open just enough to fit his hand through, and jabs the knife outside. When he pulls the blade back in, it's covered in fresh blood. His usual mask of indifference remains, even as he casually wipes the blade clean on the pants he borrowed from his host. "You know, it might have been great timing for you to have fucked yourself into having me at your place."

"Maybe," Karkat mutters. At this point, he finds his eyes drawn to Dave's trembling leg leg. His curiosity beats his common sense, and he finally decides to try and sate it. "That happens a lot, doesn't it?"

"Splicers, or spasms?" Dave asks this with as little emotion as ever. After a few seconds of wiping the blade, he studies it closely. Perhaps noticing some more blood, he resumes cleaning it. "Both of them are pretty regular, and both of them are problems. The second one isn't as much of an issue, though. Like I said, it's been ten years. We coexist, now. They hurt sometimes, though. It's sort of like when your leg goes to sleep, but more persistent and intense. That make sense?"

Karkat nods. Honestly, he hadn't expected the question to work. "So... I guess I should thank you for saving my life twice."

"The dead fuck outside your door had no chance of getting in." Dave shrugs. For the briefest of seconds, a smile crosses his face. It's a rare glimpse of emotion, and it makes Karkat's heart flutter strangely. "These doors are heavy duty, nothing like the plywood we nail up in Skid Row. I'm just used to having to deal with them myself, since Ryan would never bother wasting money protecting the people who built his stupid city."

"Do you think this will calm down?" Karkat frowns. He wanders over to his armchair and sits down. In the back of his mind, he's keenly aware of the fact that he might be parting ways with his beloved apartment in the near future. "I've seen enough bullshit back home. I don't need war and revolution to follow me here, too."

Dave, in return, shrugs. When he speaks, his voice is softer than usual. It occurs to Karkat that he's trying to comfort him, and the thought only makes the strange sensation in his stomach increase in intensity. "To be real with you, I don't. I think this place is more fucked than the guy I just stabbed. Doesn't really matter much to me. I figured I'd die down here a while ago. The doc who got me after I fucked myself over said I had five years, tops. 'Course, that was bullshit, but I'm not going to make it much longer down here." At this point, Dave looks away, focusing his gaze on some of the blood spatter he'd left behind. "I never really felt the need to survive any longer than this shitty place, but I might be reconsidering."

"Reconsidering? For what?" Karkat inquires. As much as he has believed Dave to be little more than a wannabe cool kid and obnoxious jackass, he finds himself thinking about shifting this position. "I mean, I guess that's your personal bullshit. I'm not shoving my nose into your inevitably messy fucknozzle of a life."

"I... Just for reasons," comes Dave's uncertain response. With his head turned, Karkat can see his eyes, and they belay a pointed anxiety. "Look, the point is that I can help you get out of the city, but I'll need payment. If I make it out of this place, I'll be looking at medical bills deeper than the trench this stupid city will eventually drop into."

"I can do that."

"Great." Dave turns. He heads towards his room, and prepares to barricade himself inside. Just before he does, though, he pauses. He seems to begin to say something, only to reconsider. With this decision made, he enters the room and closes the door.

Karkat, meanwhile, remains in the living room. He stares at the vivid red stains on his front door. The liquid pools just in front of the portal, too, and it seems to be seeping into the wood. It's all so strangely familiar, yet wholly foreign. He's seen this all before, yet he never thought he'd see it again. Now that he is, though, it's bothersome. It worries him deeply, and it makes him question his decisions. Why has he been pursuing this useless wealth? He has no one to share it with, save for Kanaya and this newfound drifter. What point will it have on the surface? He'll have to rebuild from scratch, and he'll be lucky to achieve anything near the success he's had in Rapture.

The thoughts flood over him, overwhelming him, until he has finally had enough. He strides purposefully to the record player, throws on the nearest available album, and begins playing it at full blast. He grabs a bottle of Moonbeam, pops it open, and sits on the sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  **   
>  [Here's a link to the image post!](http://godtiermeme.tumblr.com/post/165133870847/heres-an-incredibly-fast-kanaya-also-from-my)   
> 


End file.
